


Your Shield unto the End

by Akiko_Natsuko



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Friendship/Love, Gen, Guilt, Loss, M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 09:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18990367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: He would be a shield again, one last time, and as Jack shifted against him, lifting his head to look at him with haunted eyes, in a ruined face, he carved that promise into his heart.This time, I will be your shield until the end.In the wake of Zurich, Reinhardt mourns and Jack seeks shelter.





	Your Shield unto the End

_Gone._

     Reinhardt sighed and turned off the television, before reaching for his tankard and taking a deep drink, even as his gaze lingered on the now blank screen, unsure of why he had put the news on in the first place. It wasn’t going to change and seeing the images of Zurich in ruins was doing nothing but hammering home that fact that his old home, his family…Jack was gone. And that he hadn’t been there to… _To do what?_ He had been their shield for so long, and in the end, he had been thrown aside, but he should have been there at the end. He should have told Petras and the U.N. where to shove their idea of ‘retirement’ and stayed where he was needed, even if all he would have been able to do in the end was die by their side.

_I’m sorry, Jack,_ he thought, closing his eyes, remembering how small and broken the Strike Commander had looked that day in his office. There had been a fire in the blue eyes when he’d first arrived, a flicker of the old Jack, the one from their days on the Strike Team. Jack had been ready to fight for him, desperation behind his anger. Looking back, Reinhardt realised it had been loneliness as their allies disappeared around them, and even those that remained seemed like they were just waiting for Jack to topple. He had been the last. A relic of a different time and he had been tired and hurt. Ana was dead. Overwatch had become a different creature, and he was adrift in a world where his honour and glory had no role. So, when Jack had been ready to fight, he had bowed his head and allowed those above Jack to have their way.

It had been a mistake.

_“I’m sorry Jack,” he murmured, closing the distance between them, but falling short a hand outstretched and there was a pause, heavy with unspoken words before he let it fall away. He didn’t miss the hurt in Jack’s gaze, and his own heart ached in turn, but this farewell was hard enough as it was, and he couldn’t bear to make it worse than it already was. “There is no place for an old Crusader like me anymore.”_

_“Reinhardt…”_

_“I’m a relic Jack,” Reinhardt cut across him, unable to bear the thought of hearing Jack plead with him to stay, not sure that he would be able to remain firm in the face of it.  “The entire Strike team is now, but some are better than moving with the times than others.” He wasn’t sure when he’d realised it. There had been an inkling as Overwatch grew and blossomed, a far cry from the disparate group that had come together during the Crisis, and it had grown as things shifted. As they lost friends and family. As the closeness between them began to fade away._

_“I’m not,” Jack whispered, moving away to stand in front of the window, his expression distant as he stared out over the base. He cut a lonely figure, and Reinhardt’s hands clenched at his side, itching to reach out for him, but he wasn’t sure how to cross the distance between them now. “I miss how things used to be.”_

_“As do I, old friend,” he murmured. “But we fought for this change, and now we must move with it or step aside, and I’m afraid the time has come for me to do the latter.”_

    That had been the last time they’d spoken, empty words and a distance between them. Jack had watched him leave the office, unable to stop him, and in the end, it had been easier to slip away. To walk away and leave it all behind, to leave Jack behind.

And now he was paying the price for it.

     Because Jack was gone, and all Reinhardt could see when he thought about the other man was that lonely figure at the window. Even in retirement, he’d heard the rumours and whispers about what had been happening, had heard how Gabriel and Jack had grown apart, leaving the latter more alone than ever, and he had died like that.

Alone.

Abandoned.

    The tankard creaked and shattered as his grip tightened, liquid flying everywhere. _Live with honour._ He had promised to live by that tenant, and yet when it had mattered, he had allowed himself to be pushed aside. Walking away from the very people he had promised to shield. A broken noise rose in the back of his throat as he opened his eyes, staring blankly at the broken tankard and splattered liquid.

  _Jack, look at what has become of us._

*

    He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there, lost in his thoughts and in the memories of happier times, when blue eyes had been bright with life rather than desperation, and there had been no distance, or words that were too hard to speak between them. It was harder to recall those days than he cared to admit, but it was easier than staring at the broken remains of that old life on the news. But eventually, he’d forced himself to move, carefully setting the broken pieces down on the table, rising to search for a cloth to clean up the mess. However, he’d barely set foot in the kitchen, when there was a noise from the front door, as though someone had started knocking and then fallen forward to slump against the door instead.

     Instantly alert, he’d backtracked, grabbing his hammer from its home propped in the corner of his living room as he made a beeline for the door. He doubted that anyone would be foolish enough to try anything here, but with the image of Zurich burning now etched on his memory, he wasn’t going to take the risk. Hefting its weight, he reached for the handle as he reached the door, yanking it open, braced for an attack, only to find the weapon falling from suddenly limp hands and clattering to the ground, smashing through a small table and knocking several photos to the floor. But he was blind and deaf to the chaos, eyes locked on the figure slumped against his door frame, on blonde hair that had faded to silver apart from a few strands that had been spared.

“Jack…” He whispered.

    There was a pause, his nerves stretched thin, and then the other man moved. There was none of the power and grace he’d always associated with Jack Morrison. Instead the movements were slow and uncertain, and it didn’t take long to realise why as Jack slowly pushed himself upright, giving Reinhardt a clear view of the blood staining the tattered and filthy clothes, and he was already moving, stepping forward in the way he hadn’t allowed himself back then, reaching out to support Jack. “What happened? How are…?” The questions caught in his throat, as Jack lifted his head to look at him, the one bright eyes, dulled and unfocused. But it was the gashes that caught his attention, twin lines across the face he’d known so fell, a face that was covered in cuts and bruises, stark against pale skin.

    Someone had tried to tend them, and he had a feeling he knew who as Jack met his gaze, eyes skittering away as he tried to hunch in on himself. It explained the messy stitches, the redness around them only adding to his concern. “Jack,” he murmured, voice soft, supporting Jack with one hand as the other rose, fingers trembling as they brushed against a swollen cheek, before moving up to ghost over the wounds, frowning as Jack flinched reflexively. He had dozens of questions to ask, but they could wait. “Come inside, Liebling,” he murmured, glancing around, glad that he lived apart from the others because although he didn’t know what was happening, he knew that there would be people looking for Jack.

“…hardt…” It was little more than a breath of sound, but it was music to his ears at that moment as Jack leaned into him, closing what little distance remained between them, letting Reinhardt support his weight with a trembling sigh as he added brokenly. “It’s over…”

“And yet you are alive,” Reinhardt pointed out, even as he guided the unsteady man inside, closing the door firmly behind them and bolting it for good measure. “We are both alive.” He wasn’t naïve enough to believe that was enough, a shiver running down his spine at Jack’s words. He had known that there was more to Zurich than had met the eye, and Jack’s words and the broken tone confirming it, and his eyes shifted to the hammer. “And it’s not over, not until we’re both dead.”

   He would be a shield again, one last time, and as Jack shifted against him, lifting his head to look at him with haunted eyes, in a ruined face, he carved that promise into his heart.

_This time, I will be your shield until the end._


End file.
